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Boggy Bogota

For our last day windsurfing J hit the lake and demanded V take photos of him all day (same old same old). Showered and packed we said our (possibly not) final goodbyes and waited for our bus back to Cali. And waited. Just as we were about to give up a million buses turned up at once and we, along with our new German friend, piled into the seam-splitting bus. 3 hours of standing up pressed up against a sweaty Colombian was not V’s idea of fun. J, being J, had other thoughts.

Luckily seats became available after a while and the rest of the journey was relatively painless. At the bus terminal in Cali we decided to try to bus to the airport as a taxi man was going to rape us. Potentially literally. Lying to the bus driver we said our flight left at 9.30pm to ensure we have enough time to get there. ‘20 minutos’ was his reply. An hour and a half and an extra bus later we arrived at the airport. Surely this is as bad as it can get….wait don’t these things normally occur in threes?

So, after waiting an extra 2 and a half hours for our already late flight we finally boarded. Third thing ticked, right? Wrong. We landed at Bogota Airport only to be ripped off by a greedy taxi driver who drove us around for another few hours in an unsuccessful attempt at finding our pre-booked hostel.

We asked several policemen and some local crazies and none could come up with the goods. It was now 3.30am and we were driving around an unknown notoriously dangerous city, passing an abundance of male/female prostitutes, drug dealers, fights and more. We had no choice but to find somewhere else to stay, rapido. We managed to get into the dorm of a nearby hostel and passed out.



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